Initiation
by HappyChaos3D
Summary: He had never done this before. 10-year-old Sam had yet to even see a real ghost, and now he was out on Halloween, by himself, hunting the real deal. But he had no choice. Dean needed him. Hurt Dean, Rookie Sam.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N** I thought I'd write a Halloween fic. This is my first wee!chester fic that I'm posting, so I hope I do them justice (I have another one in the works, but I'm waiting until I can update my other chapter fics first). I hope to have the next chapter up tomorrow and have the whole thing posted in the next couple of days. I hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer**: "Supernatural" and all the characters you recognize do not belong to me. But a girl can dream, right?

**Summary**: He had never done this before. 10-year-old Sam had yet to even see a real ghost, and now he was out on Halloween, by himself, hunting the real deal. But he had no choice. Dean needed him.

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**Initiation** by Deana W.

_OK Sam, what are you doing here? Dad's going to kill you… unless this stupid ghost kills you first. Oh how did I ever get us in this mess?_

Sam took a deep breath as he traipsed through the halls of the giant, dilapidated and incidentally very haunted, house. With every step the ten-year-old berated himself for going in the first place and thought of the irony of it all because really, no one wanted Sam to start hunting yet, not Dad, definitely not Dean and especially not Sam. And yet, here he was, on Halloween night of all times, _by himself_, hunting a very angry spirit. Well, there was more to it than that, much more.

_You can do this Sam, stop being such a wuss. Dean needs you. _

He silently encouraged himself to continue, despite the fact that his hands were shaking. He tried not to tremble so much, but he was freaking out. Only two years ago did Sam learn that ghosts, and monsters and crap even existed, he was still very new to the whole hunting thing. He had never done this before and _really_ didn't know what he was doing.

OK, sure, he knew how to fire a gun, he knew that rock salt and iron repelled spirits, he knew that most ghosts could be vanquished by salt and burning the bones, he knew every haunting was different and sometimes had a different set of rules than the norm. In theory, he knew a lot, but in practice… that was another story. Dad had set up a few training exercises, where Dad would simulate a hunt through role playing, but even then, either Dad or Dean would be the ghost while the other teamed up with Sam. On the field, he had never done this before. He had yet to even see a real ghost, and now he was out alone… on Halloween… by himself… no back up, nothing… hunting the real deal.

Not even in training did Sam ever fly solo. And up until tonight Sam didn't think he ever would, considering that Dean protected him like the Secret Service protected the President. Dean always had Sam's back, no matter what. Making sure Sam was safe and happy was always Dean's first priority. Sam often rolled his eyes at that, he was a big kid now—he didn't need his big brother watching out for him _all_ the time. But other times, especially when Dad was gone on a hunt and it was late at night in a strange place, Sam was secretly glad. At the moment, Sam wished more than anything that Dean was there to protect him and be the big brother now. But if he were, there'd be no need to be wandering the halls of the haunted white elephant of a house.

And Sam really didn't want to hunt at all. He hated the training, he hated that Dad was a hunter and that Dean was becoming a hunter and that Sam was expected to one day take part in the family business. Shoot, he already helped with research, something he was remarkably good at for a ten-year-old kid. That part he didn't mind too much, it was the danger and uncertainty involved with hunting that Sam hated the most. It was scary, being holed up in some motel while Dad's gone hunting, not knowing if he was coming home. Or worse, staying with Uncle Bobby or Pastor Jim when Dad took Dean with him, not knowing if he'd ever see them again. Anything could happen on a hunt.

Sam swallowed hard at that thought and tried not to let his imagination get the better of him as he shone his flashlight down the dark, dusty halls, but he couldn't help but think of all the worst case scenarios that could happen.

_Don't be such a chicken Sam; you can do this._

There were other things to hate about the family business. It was a shitty life and Sam wished he didn't have to be a part of it. It wasn't fair.

With their lifestyle, it was no wonder he never made any lasting friendships despite the fact he was easy going and people liked him. The thing was that, not only did dad's 'job' force them to move around a lot, but their stupid life meant Sam had to lie to everyone about everything. He couldn't exactly tell his newfound friends that his Dad hunted monsters for a living, they got their income through fraud and hustling, and that for Sam, homework had nothing to do with math and science, and everything to do with reading up on the history of a haunted house or looking into the lore surrounding whatever creature Dad was hunting.

Sam hated it all and wished he was still ignorant to what was _really_ out there hiding in the dark. But no, he just had to be the cat that curiosity killed, he just had to be the kid who had to know everything and stick his nose where it didn't belong and read Dad's journal. Flash forward two years later, and the same curiosity that introduced Sam into the world of the supernatural managed to get Sam in the pickle he was in now.

He didn't want to be there in the first place, but Sam really had no choice. If he backed out now, if he didn't do this, he'd be in more trouble than he could possibly imagine. He'd never forgive himself if he didn't do this. There was too much at stake. Besides, it was his fault in the first place, thanks to his never-ending curiosity and desire to win friends and influence people—or at least desire to not have his ass handed to him every recess at school.

If he just minded his own business and didn't care so much about what the other kids at school thought about him, and just rolled with the punches, then this wouldn't have happened. He and Dean could be watching scary Halloween movies blissfully unaware of the angry spirit that resided in the house. Sam wouldn't have to hunt before he was ready, all alone and most importantly, Sam would know where his brother was.

As Sam slowly explored the house, he wished that Dad was there, although if Dad were there, Sam wouldn't know who he should be afraid of more—Dad or the ghost. He tried to swallow back his fear. He couldn't be afraid. He had to stay calm and stay focused.

_You can do this Sam. Remember what Dad taught you. Remember what Dean taught you. Sure, you're alone this time and this is the real thing, but you can do this. You have to._

As Sam turned a corner, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and the temperature drop to the point where he could see his own breath. Inhaling sharply, Sam slowly turned around, terrified of what he'd see as his mind frantically tried to remember how to shoot a gun, which was silly because Dean taught him how to shoot and they had target practice all the time. It was something Sam was good at, and getting better at every time. But in his panic and inexperience his mind drew a blank about everything.

But as he turned around, he saw that there was nothing behind him. He felt a cold chill shudder through him and he froze in place. When the feeling passed and the temperature returned to normal, Sam leaned against the wall and exhaled the breath he had been holding.

"OK, that wasn't so bad," he whispered shakily, finding comfort in the sound of his voice as it penetrated the oppressive silence. He gave a low, shrill, humorless laugh as he tried to convince himself that everything was going to be fine—that he was just being a sissy.

He startled as a loud banging noise echoed through the darkness. Sam couldn't tell what made the noise, nor could he tell where it came from, he looked around frantically for the source of the noise to no avail.

"Dean?" Sam called, blushing at the high-pitched squeak his voice seemed to make. He cleared his throat and tried again, "Dean!"

There was another noise, this time louder and while every instinct told him to run away, Sam forced himself to stay put, gather his wits and keep going. Dean needed him.

"Dean! Where are you?" he called again, hoping his search was coming to an end. The silence that followed terrified him more than anything.

_I'm sorry Dean, this is all my fault._

TBC....

**A/N **Thanks for reading, please let me know what you think, and Happy Halloween!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N So sorry that it took so long for the update. I honestly hoped to have had this posted in its entirety by the second or third but then my computer decided it hated me. Long story short is that, because I'm an idiot I have to rewrite this and not only that but my internet is only working when it wants to which is... almost never. When it does work for me it'll only last for a little while, just long enough for me to see one page of anything, two if I'm lucky. It's becoming very frustrating, but it seems to be behaving at the moment. I guess I should enjoy it while it lasts right? Anyway, enough of my excuses, here's the next chapter. I hope you enjoy!

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**Two Days Earlier**

Most kids would've taken Jeffrey Davidson's word for it, or accepted it as nothing more than just a story, but not Sam. Sam knew something Jeff and most of the other kids didn't—ghosts were real. It was a fact, though many would rather choose to deny it. Sure, Sam hadn't seen an actual ghost yet, but he knew they were real. After all, hunting them and other supernatural creatures was all part of the family business.

So when Jeff approached Sam with a ghost story and a dare, Sam knew he'd be a fool to go in blindly. After all the dare was for Sam to spend Halloween night at the old Blake house, a huge, abandoned and reputedly haunted building on the edge of town.

Jeff was the class bully who had taken a liking to picking on Sam. After almost two whole months of putting up with Jeff and his buddies as they strived to make his life miserable every recess, Jeff finally approached him that morning and told him a ghost story about Old Man Blake who haunted the place and liked to steal the souls of children and tear the flesh from their bones.

"I dare you to spend Halloween night there," Jeff said, "Consider it an initiation test. If you pass, you can join us," he motioned to his friends, "if you fail, your ass is mine for the rest of the year Winchester."

Under normal circumstances, Sam wouldn't have really cared because the nomadic lifestyle of the Winchesters meant that chances were they'd be gone within a month or two and Sam would never have to see Jeffrey Davidson and his friends ever again. Unfortunately, Sam's whining about moving all the time finally paid off and Dad surprised them by signing a lease on their little apartment so Sam and Dean could stay at the same school for the whole year.

It was just his luck that Dad would give into Sam's wishes _now._

Suddenly all the flack he got from Jeff meant something. While the thought of joining a gang of bullies was not appealing in any way, he was also not very interested in being targeted by them for the rest of the year either. Nor was Sam an idiot. He knew that Jeff was most likely one of those kids who didn't believe in ghosts and planned on pranking him good to scare the shit out of him, but it was also possible that the Blake house really was haunted, whether Jeff believed it or not. Sam would have to look into it like a good hunter in training as much as he really didn't want to. He replied, "I'll think about it."

"What are you a chicken?" Jeff mocked while his friends made clucking noise.

"No," Sam replied, "It's just I'm not sure what's worse right now, being your punching bag or being your friend."

That remark earned him a punch in the stomach that earned Jeff and company detention. Sam was no idiot, not at all, even though he could, he knew better than to fight back when a teacher was watching.

Sam spent the rest of recess in the library, looking through books on local history. The school library only gave him so much information, so after school he went to the public library and looked in the archives. Most kids would've taken Jeff's word that the old Blake house was haunted, or that Jeff was full of shit, and no other kid would bother looking into it, but Sam knew better, and he knew that he had to know for sure. If Sam didn't take the dare, he knew Jeff would find someone who would and if the place really was haunted, someone could get hurt.

After a few hours of skimming books, microfilm and old newspapers, Sam discovered the truth. Jeff was wrong about one thing—Jonathan Blake was not an old man. He was thirty-four years old when the market crashed on October 29, 1929 and then killed himself two days later. As for stealing the souls of children and tearing their flesh from their bones, there was no way of knowing that for sure, (although Sam was almost 100 percent certain that that part of the story was complete bullshit), but a suspiciously large number of people had mysteriously died in that house throughout the years, specifically in late October between the 29th and the 31st.

A few Halloween editions of old newspapers had sections of local ghost stories, and the Blake house had a few blurbs that spoke of the coincidental deaths throughout the years and reports of hearing strange noises, objects going missing during a renovation and a few reports of seeing a 'ghostly figure'.

Sam jotted some notes, quickly folded his books closed and hurried out the door. He needed to talk to Dad.

---

Dad had left without a word. Just a note—_Went on a hunt. Back in a few days. Watch out for Sammy, Dad—_and a few twenties. This was nothing new, but it hurt nonetheless. Dad promised he wouldn't take off like that anymore. He promised he'd let Dean and Sam in on his hunts, even if they weren't going to be actively involved. Dean hated coming home to an empty apartment, or hotel room without knowing where Dad was going, or what he was hunting or when he'd be back, or at least how to contact him.

Sometimes, late at night when Dad was off on a hunt, Dean would wake up gripped with fear that something happened to Dad and if something did, then no one would know for weeks.

For Sammy's sake, he liked to pretend that Dad was indestructible, that nothing bad could happen to him, not when he had two kids depending on him to come back. But too many times Dean had to patch him up after a hunt went south. He wanted to believe Dad would always be OK, but he couldn't. He could pretend all he wanted, but it did nothing to ease his mind.

If Dad just kept his promise, if he didn't have to always reveal things on a need to know basis, if he wouldn't leave without a word like he did, then maybe the sting of being left alone and in charge wouldn't hurt so bad.

Sometimes all Dean wanted to do was scream at his father, demand to know why Dad couldn't trust him. Why did everything have to be on a need to know basis? What was the harm in telling Dean the who, what, when, where, why and how of Dad's hunts? Shit Dean had tagged along on some hunts, he even saved Dad's ass more than once, and yet on other hunts, Dean was kept entirely in the dark. Why was there such a double standard?

It was the last sentence of the note that hurt the most though.

Didn't Dad realize that telling Dean to watch out for Sam was like telling him to blink, or breathe? It was automatic, reflexive, mechanical, a second nature to him, watching out for Sammy. He watched out for Sammy more than Dad ever did. He was the one who took care of Sam when he was sick or hungry or needed help with his homework when Dad was off on a hunt or too preoccupied with preparing for a hunt to remember about their basic needs. He was the one who tried to protect Sam from the things that went bump in the night, and not just in the literal sense. He was also the one who made sure Sam was not only safe, but happy. Ignorance was bliss and if Dean had his way, Sam would still not know the truth of what was out there hiding in the dark. As it was, Sam found out on his own.

Dean took a deep breath and forced those bitter thoughts to hide away in the darkest recesses of his mind. Dad did the best he could. He must've had his reasons for leaving Dean in the dark, and there was no reason for Dean to be such a girl over Dad telling him once again to watch out for Sam. After his royal fuck up four years ago that nearly got Sam killed, it wasn't like he could blame Dad for not trusting him. Dad must've had good reasons for saying and doing what he did.

_Yeah, you keep telling yourself that._

With a resigned sigh, Dean pocketed the note and accepted his job. He was not going to let Dad down. He was certainly not going to let Sam down either.

Speaking of Sam, he was going to be pissed… again. He hated Dad taking off without a word more than Dean did, and was much more vocal about it. Dean was not looking forward to dealing with a grumpy Sam when he came home. But he'd manage.

Dean settled down in front of the TV, not too worried about his little brother just yet, though it was getting close to that time. Sam had left a message saying he'd be late coming home, so there was little cause for worry but when it came to Sam, Dean was secretly a worrier by nature. It made him uncomfortable, not knowing where Sam was or if he was all right, just as it terrified Dean that Dad's latest hunting trip might prove to be his last.

It was a little past the usual dinnertime when Sam burst through the door calling, "I'm home! Sorry I'm late!" Sam kicked off his shoes and quickly joined Dean as he carelessly dropped a pile of books on the coffee table in front of Dean and removed his heavy backpack, "Dad?!" he called, glancing around. His eyes flicked to Dean, "Where's Dad? I need to talk to him."

Dean regarded his little brother a moment and then asked, "Why? What's up?"

Sam hesitated and then reached into his backpack and pulled out a photocopy of one of the newspapers he looked at in the library and handed it to Dean, "You heard of the Blake house?"

Warning bells went off in Dean's head as he looked at the theme of the photocopied article. The theme being local ghost stories. "That the huge old abandoned house on the edge of town?"

"Yeah," Sam nodded.

"I've heard some stories," Dean shrugged suspiciously as his eyes scanned the page in his hand, "though they sound like complete bullshit." And they did. He heard a few stories about the Blake house over the past few days, what with Halloween approaching, but they sounded so far fetched and contradictory that Dean had a hard time believing them, despite the fact he had been helping Dad fight ghosts since he was eight. He considered mentioning it to Dad, but never got around to it since the stories he heard from his friends at school sounded so made up and besides, they had all year to look into it. It was abandoned, condemned and fenced off, so it wasn't like it was posing a threat to anyone. But Sam was beginning to give Dean some doubts.

"Yeah well," Sam muttered as he absently looked around, "it's not just a story, it really is haunted and… where's Dad, I..."

Dean saw where Sam was going with this and he interrupted him quickly, "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Sam, since when are you actively looking for a hunt?" Ever since Sam learned about the family business, he had vocally expressed his dislike for it. No one, not Dad or Dean or especially Sam were very happy with the idea of Sam getting involved with the hunt just yet, at least beyond helping out with research anyway, and Sam seemed to hate everything to do with hunting period, so it struck Dean as odd and worrisome that Sam appeared to have found a hunt on his own.

Sam had a nervous energy about him as he snatched the paper from Dean's hand, "Not my fault, it's a long story," he huffed, "where's Dad I need to…" Sam stopped suddenly when he finally noticed the melancholy look on Dean's face. It was the disappointed look Dean wore all too often, usually when Dad… "He left, didn't he?"

Dean nodded tersely as he removed the note from his pocket and handed it to Sam.

"Shit," Sam muttered, mostly to himself, "Now what am I going to do?" Sam began to breathe heavily through his nostrils and Dean sensed a temper tantrum coming on, but this time there was more to it then just Dad merely taking off on a hunt. Dean placed both his hands on Sam's shoulders and sought out eye contact.

"What's wrong Sammy?"

"I have a problem," he sighed.

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A/N I know there's not much action and suspense in this chapter, it's mostly exposition but it'll pick up very soon. This was originally going to be all Sam's POV, but since I lost my original draft (darn it) I decided while rewriting this that I wanted to see some of Dean's POV as well, so while this was originally going to be four chapters, it might be five. Also, I apologize to John fans for not painting John in a very positive light. I love John as a character, I know he loved his kids but he wasn't that great of a father.

Hopefully, if my fickle internet will let me I should have the next chapter up in a few days or so. Thank you for reading, now please, tell me what you think. Reviews are golden and constructive criticism is my best friend and keeps the muse very happy and to be honest my muse has been in need of cheering up lately. Thank you to those who have reviewed so far, they meant a lot to me.


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